False Omen
by Virgil's Student
Summary: Thriller style fic, but with lots of Harry and Ruth angst and romance. Spoilers for Season 8. Uses the team as it exists after the events of 8.3. I do not, of course, have any ownership over the characters of Spooks. Lucky Kudos bastards.
1. Chapter 1

Ruth ploughed through the final rating on the morning's watchlist summary, inwardly groaning at the prospect of her next assignment for the day. Tariq was a fine officer, but still not entirely confident when it came to certain morning tasks, so that she was taking certain parts of it upon herself. The humdrum job of cross referencing the daily chatter from GCHQ with MI-5's reports from the last 24 hours was too much her old, old work at Cheltenham and sometimes it felt like she was running in circles with nowhere to go.

Speaking of circles....where was Harry? - her own personal hoop if there ever was one. Since returning under circumstances that were less than good, they had continued to orbit each other, the revolution unbroken by the years she'd been gone. Sometimes though, it felt a little heavy, as though George was watching **her** watch Harry from across the Grid.

But there was no watching Harry this morning. He simply wasn't there to watch. Ruth glanced at her watch - it was almost unheard of for Harry not to beat her in on Tuesday mornings. She usually let herself sleep in until 6am after choir on Monday nights, the one concession she'd made since returning to this job that was all consuming. Some semblance of normality, she'd promised herself. But sleep had once again eluded her. This break in her normal routine, no Harry in his office at 7am, had her more worried than she would care to admit, lumped on her already nervous state excerbated by too much caffeine too early. The old twinge of fear that could only be associated with worry for Harry....

"Morning, Ruth."

Harry brushed past her, wrestling with his umbrella. He stopped to smile briefly, noticing how pale she looked. She'd lost weight since coming back. He was paid to be observant, he reminded himself. He wasn't doing anything a boss wouldn't do for any of his employees.

"Harry. Morning."

Her careless greeting, delivered also with a smile, belied the relief spreading through her at the sight of him. It was just like any morning, really, except that there were ghosts standing between her and him and everything they had ever dared hoped for.

Harry continued to his office and Ruth returned to her work, thankful she could now concentrate on what was important. There was a code used on a phone yesterday that was worrying her, they were still searching for a face to match the voice from the clip GCHQ had passed along. The translation from Urdu to English was murky, but it seemed to be a veiled kill command. She pushed it out of her mind for now, knowing it was down to Tariq and his new toys. Her part would come later.

The cross referencing task took her all the way up until the daily briefing at 8.30am. Ros obviously wasn't sleeping well either, the tell tale black circles under her eyes spoke of continuing trouble over Jo's death. It was a hard time for all of them, Ruth mused, and as Harry strode into the meeting room it appeared there was enough trouble to go around.

"Let's have it, then."

Harry's clipped demand wasn't so much the words he chose, but the way he delivered them. It was as though he knew trouble was in a myriad of boxes just waiting. Waiting for them to open one and turn their backs, so that another would spring open. Nasty jack-in-the-box habit of home-grown terrorists. It was as though they had knowledge of when another group might keep the Services occupied. A rota for distracting, while another got their crack at mass destruction. One week on, one week off.

Ros summarised the meeting with the Royal Protection Unit she had sat in on yesterday, not bothering to disguise her contempt, followed by Lucas' succinct appraisal of the current suspects under observation by Section ___. There seemed nothing too extraordinary about any of it, nothing to foreshadow the horror which was to unfold.

Ruth quickly added her analysis of the previous day's threats and Tariq flicked through some problems the system was having with security and hurried on to the new face matching software he was excited about.

"In particular", he was saying, "it can magnify images so much better than the old program, and you don't need to re-start the program if the system locks down."

Harry cleared his throat.

"But there is something I'd like to show you all", he rushed on, seeing an interruption was imminent. "The resolution on this isn't great, but I think we have a match for the voiceprint Ruth caught yesterday from GCHQ, the one side of the conversation of the man in Urdu, with the not so veiled threat to kill someone? It was given to this guy", he paused to click the remote at the screen, "Amir Essam. He's a business owner, and a good one too it seems, he has three grocers on his payroll."

"But who's he been tasked to kill?" asked Lucas.

Ruth took over as Tariq looked at her expectantly. "What we have of the other man's side of the conversation, conducted in Urdu, the phrase used is "an ocean of blood churns around me". It's originally by Mizra Ghalib, the Persian poet, writing as Delhi fell to British rule. But it's also used as a kill command by Tehreek-ul-Mujahideen members in Pakistan".

"The Pakistani Pan-Islamists?", Harry queried. "I thought they only had funding here, not active members."

"We haven't had evidence of any active cell here as yet, but you know that doesn't mean anything, Harry. They've had active cells in the States since they started in the early nineties. It could be our way into finding out how much of a foothold they have here", Ruth replied.

Her earnest blue eyes sought contact with his rich, toffee coloured ones, and once again both experienced the surreality of having their respective stomachs free-fall, despite the need to concentrate on the present danger.

The call to consciousness came from Ros, in typical acerbic fashion.

"Do we know who was the target yet? Or will we find out after GCHQ passes that along too?"

"We don't hear anything else from the person on the end of the phone. The next part of Essam's side of the conversation is simply this: 'Good news dies quickly, then. It shall be done on Wednesday morning, when my wife returns from her mother's in Hampshire. I shall do it myself.' The call ends there. Perhaps now we know who he is, we can discover who "good news" might be." Ruth inwardly prayed this might be the case.

"And Tariq, find out who was on the other end of that phone, would you? I'd like to know who our intermediary is between the grocer and the extremists", said Ros.

"On it", said Tariq, getting to his feet. "No hits as yet, but I have a few things I can try. I'll send you Essam's file, Ruth, maybe you can figure out who the target is and establish whether he's tied to this group."

Ruth grabbed the file tossed her, and exited quickly. Despite the fact they seemed to have a small window of time, she knew she had to find a money trail in order to take this to Ros with a recommendation. Frankly, she was still holding out that Essam really liked Urdu poetry and his returning phrase was a witty colloquialism of which she was unaware. But deep down, she knew it wasn't the case. It was a classic call and response code.

She brought up Essam's file on her screen, hastening to check his personal details. Married, one child, good financial record, second generation Pakistani after his father and mother came to Britain in the sixties. No political affiliations she could find. Now the family....

The photo came up promptly and Ruth gasped. It had been years, but she still looked exactly the same, albeit without her customary smile in her drivers' license photo. An icy chill settled over Ruth's heart as the realization hit her. The woman in the photo was the target.

"Ros", she squeaked. "I think I know what good news is going to die tomorrow morning."

Ros made her way over from where she and Lucas were arguing softly.

"Ruth?"

"His wife. Her name is Bushra, which also means good omen, or good news. He'll kill her when she comes back from Hampshire in the morning."

"That was bloody fast, Ruth", said Ros, reaching for the phone.

Ruth swallowed. They would know sooner or later.

"I know well what Bushra means, Ros. You see, she was at school with me. We studied Arabic together and practiced conversation in the afternoons. She was my friend."


	2. Chapter 2

**Obviously, I'm only borrowing the characters that Kudos and the BBC own.**

The plot does start to unfold this chapter, but I promise the next chapter will be lots of Harry and Ruth, so look forward to that. 

There were days on the Grid where the monotony was overwhelming. Where it was endless paperwork, impersonal reports, data analysis and fact checking. Where hours were separated into liveable portions and officers watched the clock like students awaiting the end of a lesson.

This was not one of those days.

The Grid was a blur of movement, the frenzied to-ing and fro-ing of the field officers while Ruth and Tariq kept their heads down and tried to find out how much of a threat Essam really posed, both to his wife and to the UK at large. Ruth tried to keep her mind clear as she searched for the money trail, hoping deperately that Ros and Lucas had a plan for keeping Bushra safe.

Within a few hours, Ruth had identified not only a clear financial link between Essam and Tehreek-ul-Mujahideen, but translated various emails and text messages found by Tariq.

"He's clearly a supporter of the Tehreek-ul-Mujahideen cause", she told Ros forcefully. "It's not just the money, he regularly posts on certain extremist websites, inciting hatred against the UK. He invokes classic terminology used by extremist fighters, including the "Hand of God" catchphrase, which is meant to urge fighters to take matters into their own hands."

"And the Kashmiri connection", Tariq added, although he appeared glued to his computer screen.

Ruth didn't mind the interruption, not when Tariq was so invested in Kashmiri politics. It would be like admonishing Harry for getting worked up over Northern Ireland.

"They do have substantial support in the Kashmir Valley, it's true. One of their main aims is to 'Islamisize' Kashmir."

"And the money trail is there? No doubt about it?" asked Ros, flicking quickly through the file in her hand.

"Absolutely none", Ruth replied with no hesitation. "It's a credible threat. Some of the emails and posts talk about multiple targets in London. In the near future. It took me most of today but it's there."

Ros looked pointedly at the new techie and inquired of Tariq: "What about the other man? Did any of those texts or emails lead us to the man behind the curtain?"

" 'Fraid not", the newest recruit replied, still not dragging his eyes away from the screen. "Maybe soon, but he's not getting hits on any of the databases we have access to so far."

Ruth couldn't wait any longer. "So Bushra? When do you lift her?"

"In the morning," Ros replied, finally making eye contact with the analyst.

"Why not now?", cried Ruth, struggling to keep her voice level. "What if he makes his move sooner rather than later?"

"Chill, Ruth - she's being watched."

Lucas swept over to her desk with his customary insousciant charm and managed a small smile for a woman he so liked and admired. Seeing Ruth distressed was troubling enough; it reminded him too avidly of that day not so many months ago when he'd burst into a locked room as a knife was about to be sliced across her throat. "Essam's not likely to make a move at least until she's left her mother's and possibly not until she checks in with her once she gets home. He will not want people asking questions and looking for her, at all costs."

Ruth drew a deep breath, realising the implication of this.

"Which means if Essam is involved, either as a backer or as a fighter, an attack is imminent, confirming what I already found", she said slowly. "But I still don't understand where Bushra fits in. There is nothing, NOTHING, I can find in her profile that could suggest why she might be a target for her husband or anyone else. I had to show her how to vote when she turned 18, there's no way she has ideology behind her. She doesn't have that streak of fanaticism required, I assure you."

There was a pause, broken only by the rhythmic whirring of Tariq's software program as it scanned each new entry across the voiceprint.

"It's possible....she saw something", Lucas finally said. "Something or someone she wasn't meant to see. She's evidence that can trace someone back to an attack, and now they need to dispose of her."

"I'd better see Harry", Ros muttered, swiftly heading for Harry's office. he'd barely returned from the JIC meeting which he had reluctantly attended. "Stuffed suits, the lot of them", he had mumbled as he made his way back in, huffing and puffing. after blowing them all down over the latest legal whitewash.

As soon as Ros was out of earshot, Ruth addressed the other field officer:

"Lucas, I need to be there tomorrow. When you pick her up. Or at least help you debrief her. My personal connection can help here. She'll trust me."

Lucas didn't have it in him to reject her plea, not when her eyes implored him that this wasn't just anyone they were dragging in.

"Allright", he agreed. "We're bringing her back here for debriefing, we'll make sure you're here to help."

"Thankyou, Lucas." Ruth smiled in such a way that the field officer couldn't help but smile back. He still wasn't clear exactly what the personal connection between Harry and Ruth was, but at moments like these he could understand her appeal. She had a gentleness that called to Lucas, and that was rarely encountered in the Service, even amongst desk officers. "I'll sort it out with Ros", he added, hurrying away before she talked him into anything more serious.

Ruth bent her head, looking through Essam's file once again, for colleagues, creditors - anyone who might be the man on the end of the phone. She slowly started her list, which seemed to grow longer just by looking at it. It was too obvious, she thought, that Essam's man on the T-ul-M inside would be someone with clear links; it had to be something more subtle. How could they possibly have met?

At some point, very late in the afternoon, Ruth roused herself. She was hungry, and apart from a hastily eaten apple mid morning she had eaten nothing since very early. After checking with Tariq that there was nothing _too_ urgent requiring her attention, she grabbed her sandwich and headed upstairs for the roof.

She tried to take her time but the anxiety was overwhelming so she rushed her food in a way she never would have done with her work. Crumpling the greaseproof paper in her hand, she walked slowly over to the ledge and peered over. She tried desperately to occupy her mind beyond the immediate problem, but that brought its own difficulties. This was Jo's place for a stolen cigarette. Tom's old haunt for talking things out with members of the team. And Harry...not so very long ago she and Harry had shared one of their moments right here. Who else did Harry meet up here? she wondered. Come to think of it, why on Earth didn't they bug the roof? Surely that would get them everything in the Section they would ever need to know!

The smile faded quickly, and was replaced with her quiet grief. The wind curled her hair across her face and she revelled in the brief moment of being alone before returning to the madness downstairs, trying to calm herself while she adjusted her game face.

"Ruth."

She jumped visibly.

"Harry!"

He apologized quickly and extended a cup of tea, the steam still clearly rising from it.

"You'd been up here a little while, I thought you might like one."

"And you wanted to know about Bushra Essam."

Harry had the grace to look mildly ashamed.

"Well yes, but I didn't need to bring tea for that, did I?"


	3. Chapter 3

**I love reviews, please leave one. **

Ruth smiled shyly and accepted the cup of tea with murmured thanks, grateful for its warmth.

"It's been so cold lately, more hot chocolate weather," she said, not daring to look at Harry who had drifted closer.

"Quite."

Ruth suddenly remembered they were drinking tea and hastened to correct the implied reprimand.

"Not that I don't like tea, Harry - I love tea. Nice and strong, just like you make it."

Harry took pity on her. "It's allright Ruth, I know you like tea. It's why I brought it to you."

They sipped in silence for a few moments, each wondering what the other was thinking. Oddly enough, it was the same thing: the last time they had been up here together, they had shared one of those moments that made it feel as though she had never been away. Ruth recalled the tears that had made his eyes so very bright, and she found herself trying to picture them, a practice that had occupied maudlin moments while she was in Cyprus. She looked up, and discovered those every eyes were currently trained on her expressive face. Disconcerted, she hurried to the matter at hand.

"Bushra," she began.

"Yes," her companion sighed. "Bushra. You were at school together."

"Yes, in Petersfield. She was a day girl, I was a boarder. Her family were orthodox Muslims, they practiced strictly, but they sent Bushra to Bedales with me because they wanted her to have the best education she could. Her parents only immigrated here a few years before she was born, but they were better off than most Pakistani immigrants because her father was a GP, and had some standing in the local community. He was part of the elite back in Pakistan anyway, and was really rather more British than most of the Hampshire locals."

"It's hard to imagine you at school," Harry said, looking away and turning back to face the view from the top of Thames House.

"A miserable teenager buried in her books? Yes, very hard to imagine," Ruth returned with some degree of bitterness. "I hated it there, but it does rather encourage a spiritual awakening when it comes to literature and art and drama, and that was good. It was the reason I wanted to study Arabic, so I could read the poetry of that language."

"And that was how you met Bushra?"

"Oh, we'd had classes together for years. Around third form we really bonded though - we were coupled together on a project in English Lit and became fast friends. Her family liked me, I was well behaved and modestly dressed and didn't curse (at least in their hearing or Bushra's), and my fascination with their culture endeared me to them quickly. I think her father felt sorry for me, so far from home and without my own father for so long. Bushra was wonderful to practice conversation with, she was fluent in several dialects and made it that much trickier and so rewarding when one got it right...."

Ruth continued to wax lyrical about the excitements of Arabic conversation and how different it was, while Harry inwardly marvelled at just how blue her eyes became when she was excited about something. Truthfully, he also conjured the image of those eyes in idle moments or when pressed. They both softened him, and galvinized him for action when necessary.

"....and it becomes a soft clicking sound instead, more of a 'ckkk' noise, it's really quite beautiful when done correctly. I could never have become so fluent in Arabic without Bushra, she was irreplaceable. We actually had so much in common, quite alike in the strangest ways."

"Exceptionally bright and passionate then," Harry murmured, looking for all the world as though he was not listening to her. Except for the slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Ruth coloured slightly, but ignored the implied compliment. "She was. So much. We practiced Urdu sometimes as well."

"Urdu?" said Harry, roused from his daydream-like demeanour. "You're not conversant in Urdu, are you?"

"Oh no," Ruth hastened to add. "It was something I became interested in while spending time at their house, and became a bit of a hobby. I -- flirted --- with it," she was almost coquettish as she emphasised the verb, looking up at him from beneath her long lashes, "but was too focused on Arabic and Persian to be really serious. It does mean I can occasionally pick up an error from a GCHQ transcript if it's really shoddy."

Harry shook his head in wonder. He pitied any teacher who had been faced with this powerhouse of intellect in the form of a lithe, fresh faced teenager. She was frightening enough now.

"And after school?" he enquired, regretfully returning the conversation to work oriented lines. "You went to Oxford, and Bushra....?"

"Bushra stayed with her mother. She worked in the community centre in a job her father had arranged for her, and he looked for an eligible groom. We stayed in sporadic touch, but when she was twenty her father found the man, Essam as we now know, and it was harder. I didn't even attend the wedding, which is why I never recognized him in the meeting. I was due to visit Turkey that summer and unable to go to the wedding as the marriage had been arranged quite quickly and I'd already paid for everything."

"She has a son," Harry said slowly. "Unusual that she only has one after so many years of marriage."

"I gather from what records we've been able to locate that there was some difficulty in falling pregnant a second time." Ruth looked down at her shoes, hating to reveal something so intimate about her old friend.

Harry made a mental note to tell Lucas about that, seeing an angle that could prove useful when convincing the wife to tell what she knew. Surely the problems with fertility had caused problems between Essam and his wife, and playing off those might make her more open to helping them.

"The son is 13 now. He's currently in Pakistan visiting his father's relatives. I understand he left last week, in a visit hastily arranged only days before," Ruth continued. "It all suggests a growing danger for Bushra, and for the UK at large. But we really need to know who that man on the end of the phone is. He's the one pulling the strings, to continue Ros' Wizard of Oz metaphor."

"OK," said Harry, beginning to see how the next few days might play out. "We're lifting her tomorrow and you should be part of the debriefing, I agree. Work with Tariq for the rest of the night, keep on trying to find out who that man on the conversation is, and work on a list of possible contacts Essam might have made. We need to know who else might be involved in a possible attack. And we need to know the nature of the threat as soon as possible."

Ruth nodded. "What I have at the moment would suggest conventional weapons, Harry. In his business role, if Essam is involved directly in the attack, he has access to pharmeceutical goods that would greatly enhance the explosive capabilities of a one person bomb."

"One person bomb," said Harry, looking out once again toward the Thames. "It makes it sound like a convenient TV dinner. Only deadly to more than one."

Ruth had shuffled off from the Grid around midnight, and was back a little after 6am. She wanted a jump on the day, knowing once Bushra was here her day would be shot to pieces. Ros appeared shortly after 7am, looking tense.

"Tariq's a few minutes away," she said in lieu of 'good morning'. "Bushra's being watched by more than our boys."

"Then how do we lift her?" Ruth asked, almost dreading the response.

"We're going to lift her Ruth, there's no doubt about it." Lucas had once again appeared from nowhere to assauge Ruth's fears. "Besides which, if she's being killed, we need to know why. She must know something."

Tariq chose that moment to blunder onto the Grid, pulling his helmet from his head and looking as though he'd been pulled through a hedge backwards. He hadn't quite mastered the art of semi-corporate dressing yet. Lucky field agents who were able to dress less formally.

"Tariq, I've figured out how we're going to get the target without her tag-team knowing," said Ros, once again skipping the pleasantries. "We're going to need access to traffic control and Lucas, tell Wendy to get her old lady outfit out."

Lucas grinned. "She'll love that. It's the only time she doesn't wear stilettos."

"Yeah, well with legs like hers...." said Tariq, drifting off only as he caught sight of Ros' face.

**************************************

Ruth waited anxiously for the surveillance team to radio in and tell them when Bushra's car was approaching Lucas, who was waiting near the middle sized intersection decided upon, on the major route back into the city. The surveillance team had already confirmed she was not far away. Around the corner, some way down, Wendy waited too, seemingly fascinated by the window display of an op-shop filled with wedding dresses.

Tariq checked the feeds. "This is Zulu One to Zulu Three, can you hear me?"

Lucas cleared his throat imperceptibly. "Ready Zulu One."

"Zulu Four speak to me."

"I'm here Zulu One, and I'm loving the rubber soles." Wendy enjoyed the dressing up part of operations like this, and with her makeup trowled on she really looked the part she been cast.

"Be careful, Zulu Four," Lucas drawled. "Some old man might take a pass at you looking like that."

Ruth gnawed at her fingers, unable to stop herself from imagining the worst. It was a solid plan, but that didn't always mean a clean conclusion. A burst from the comms broke her reverie.

"Zulu One, this is Echo One. Bookshop has passed go, tag team in sight."

Ros was already in motion.

"Zulu Four, you are go. It's still the silver Lexus. Zulu Three, stand by."

Wendy turned from her post, and ambled toward the pedestrian crossing, pausing at just the right moment to halt the silver Lexus from passing through the crossing. She was right in front of the car when it screeched to a halt, the driver cursing while his companion bellowed at him to manoeuvre around the old woman. Wendy grinned to herself, hunched over and gesturing rudely to the men shouting in the car, taking her time as she pushed her walker across the white stripes.

"Zulu One, I have Bookshop in sight," Lucas said urgently.

Tariq tapped his keyboard, confident in his moves.

"Zulu Three, red light in 3, 2, 1....."

"Zulu One, Bookshop is stationary at the intersection. Making the approach now."

Lucas bound to the small blue hatchback, and quickly unlocked the front door with his skeleton key, his coatsleeves close enough so that no drivers around could see his swift movements. The woman in the car screamed, as she desperately looked for a way to get rid of him, but it was done. Lucas was in the car and speaking urgently in her ear.

"My name is Tim and I'm MI-5," he flashed his false ID. "You need to move NOW. You're being followed."

Wendy was still moving slowly across the road, but stopped as she deliberately spilled her basket of groceries over the crossing. The driver in the Lexus held down on his horn and Wendy took the opportunity to curse at them, buying extra time.

"No!" Bushra shouted. "Get out of my car!" She looked around to see if the car behind her had noticed the exchange, looking for help anywhere she could find it.

Lucas knew there was no choice. The light turned green, they had to move now. His hand in his pocket, he withdrew his weapon, keeping it low so that no-one passing would notice. She screamed again. "You have no choice in the matter, Mrs Essam. Move. NOW!"

Bushra hit the accelerator, just as Wendy finally reached the other side of the crossing. "I'm across Zulu Three, I couldn't hold them any longer."

Lucas remained tense, directing Bushra curtly to make a left down a sidestreet and then to follow out onto another main road with much more traffic than the one they had left behind. At the same moment, the silver Lexus had arrived at the same traffic light where Bushra had met with her pursuer, which was mysteriously red again already. Both men cursed angrily. The hatchback was nowhere in sight.


	4. Chapter 4

**A long chapter, that probably wouldn't take that long to watch but takes a long time to read (and write). It is plot heavy, but is important overall. This is the main exposition required for the story, so it will stand alone in that respect. Hope you stick with me, and please review. I love hearing what you think. **

Ros charged into Harry's office. "Lucas has her, they're changing cars and will be here in 10 minutes. Ruth's assembling what she needs."

"Ruth playing good cop, I suppose?"

"Yes. Lucas was right to suggest her, it does help clear the decks of distrust slightly. And it will make her more likely to talk."

"You hope." Harry set his lip, contemplating what might happen if they couldn't convince Bushra Essam of the immediate danger.

Ros smiled unhappily. "Yes well, hope is half what this game is about sometimes."

The still youthful woman in the burqa waited angrily for a reply.

"I'm sorry about the gun, Mrs Essam. It was necessary for us to get away as soon as possible, there was no other way to convince you."

"I am in no danger. No-one has tried to hurt me. Only you." Her brown eyes flashed dangerously.

Lucas leant forward. "Mrs Essam, you were being followed by more than I and my colleagues. You were being watched by two men....."

Lucas broke off as Ruth entered the room. Bushra gasped.

"Ruth!" She stood up, looked her friend up and down, and then ran to her.

"'Ra!" Ruth embraced her warmly, unable to help uttering the old nickname. It was wonderful to feel arms around her, even though she knew very shortly that Bushra would want nothing to do with her ever again. It was so nice to be touched lovingly, warmly - she'd forgotten how it felt.

Ruth tried to brush aside the flood of questions Bushra threw at her while she regained her mental strength. "Bushra, you should sit down. We have things to explain, and I will tell you, but it is urgent."

"Why am I here, naaz (sweetheart)? This man", here she gestured broadly to Lucas, "broke into my car at the traffic light and pointed a gun at me. He says this is the MI-5 building?"

"It is, I promise you. But sit down, truly, we will explain."

They sat, Ruth breathing deeply before launching into the morass of information they had collected.

"Bushra, what I'm about to tell you isn't easy, but it's true. Lucas?"

Lucas pressed play on the digital recorder in his hand. Essam's voice filled the room, the voiceprint from his conversation with the as-yet unidentified man.

"Why are you listening to my husband? Why would he matter to you? He is a grocer!" Bushra's eyes filled with tears.

"He is," Ruth replied, dreading what came next. "We discovered him by accident, 'Ra. In this conversation he is talking about killing someone, on the instructions of another man. He is also allied with a large terrorist organization called Tehreek-ul-Mujahideen, based in Pakistan, but with many supporters here in the UK..."

"What lunacy! Amir has business contacts in Pakistan, perhaps you are mistaking one for the other", Bushra interrupted.

Ruth continued, knowing that time was limited. She pulled the financial records from the file and placed them in front of the incredulous woman she had once known better than anyone else her age. "These are receipts for deposits made to the organization in question. Some totalling more than 5000 pounds in one go. There is an intermediary account, but it traces directly back to your husband's account. Not your joint one."

"If you'd only asked him! He sends money to his relatives in Pakistan, his mother is ill. We have been doing so for years, since before Emir was born."

Lucas stepped in. "His mother is not unwell, Bushra. She has been dead since 1994."

Bushra opened her mouth to argue, but Ruth placed the death certificate in front of her. She said nothing, absorbing this, and Lucas carried on, pressing his advantage.

"He lied about his mother and the money, and he lies about where he goes sometimes. He has a mistress in Southampton, did you know?"

Ruth winced as her friend looked up in horror. "He does not, he never would," Bushra faltered, before Lucas selected a file on the recorder and pressed play again. The sounds of violent lovemaking filled the room, and Bushra burst into tears hearing her husband's voice. Hating her job at that moment in time, Ruth pulled several photos that confirmed what they were hearing as truth from her folder and pushed them across. The crying mother merely glanced at them before directing her venom at Ruth. "Why would you tell me this?" she hissed. "I haven't seen you in what, 12 years? Why does it matter?"

"Tragic though this is, Bushra, it's not the reason you're here." Ruth paused, knowing she had to be the one to tell her this. "That conversation Lucas played of Amir? The Ghalib poetry? The group he is giving money to uses that phrase to direct members to kill a target."

"Amir would never kill anyone! He may be a philanderer but he would not hurt anyone." The anger seemed to stem the tide of tears, at least for a moment.

"Bushra, the next part of the conversation uses a codeword to describe you. You are to be killed. By Amir. On the orders of another man." Ruth forced herself not to lose eye contact.

"I want to hear it, I don't believe it, I don't!" Bushra shouted, rising to her feet.

Lucas played what little remained of the original recording and Bushra laughed. "You think he would kill me based on that? He does not even say my name, he is so cold there. They are not talking about me!"

Harry watched from outside as Ruth argued her case. He could only imagine how hard it was for her to stay detatched, and to the eye of a stranger she was walking the tightrope well. She proceeded to outline Amir's past, including his online involvement in radical websites, as Ros approached.

"How're they doing?"

"Slowly. It's too convincing a case to hold out against for too long."

Ros looked at the small monitor placed outside for observation. "The tap on Amir's second phone is operational. He must call his Mr Big soon and let him know that his target is missing. He can't postpone him forever, and when he calls, we might be able to find out who he might be."

"I'd rather we found out without letting Essam we're onto him. Is the plan for the wife in place?"

"It is," replied Ros. "And I'll tell Ruth."

Harry smiled his thanks, grateful that he was not the one to tell Ruth what the plan was for her friend in the immediate future. But he knew she would have worked it out anyway. She always did.

He returned his gaze to the monitor in time to see Bushra bury her head in hands, sobbing "Fine. Do you what you can. And find my son!"

Lucas left the room, leaving Ruth to try and comfort her.

"She did well." Harry sounded satisfied.

"She did," Lucas replied. "Now we just have to find out why he wants her dead."

"I'll get started on that now," said Ros, walking away. "Lucas, you'd better make sure the second part of the debriefing gets started."

Lucas allowed himself a minute, watching Ruth put an arm around her. "She's going to be very angry when she finds out what we've done."

"Yes, she'll make our life hell for a week or two, that's for sure." Harry suddenly realised Lucas was looking at him inquisitively. "Ruth", he added.

"I meant Bushra, Harry."

It was two hours later and both Ruth and Bushra were exhausted. Ruth left the holding room, telling Bushra that she would arrange for some food shortly. Her old friend was still resentful and suspicious, and she felt that nothing more could be gained for the moment. She trailed upstairs, leaving Lucas with her for the time being.

Ros met her halfway upstairs. "I was coming to find you," Ros said, not unkindly. "I need to explain what we're doing to keep Essam away from her."

"Why not just send her back to her mother's? Tell him she's ill and she needs to stay there?"

"There's no guarantee he won't kill them both, Ruth. We've arranged for Bushra's car to have a little....accident."

Ruth gasped. "You're going to make Essam think she is dead already? How is she supposed to go back to her life after he's picked up, Ros?"

Ros looked at her, willing Ruth to realise the truth for herself.

"You have to say it, Ros."

"She'll be relocated with a new identity, Ruth. You know how these things work. And her son too, once we have him. She can't stay in Newnham, that's for certain. Who knows who's involved with this group? Even if we catch this cell, there will be others who know who she is. We have to cover her disappearance for the next few days, and this is the only way. You know that."

"Anyone we touch....runs." Ruth looked up at Ros, glaring. "It never ends, does it?"

Ros touched her arm gently. She too understood what it was like to flee from home, not expecting to return. To leave onself behind. They shared this now, she and Ruth.

"I won't lie to her, Ros. I won't."

"You must, Ruth. For her sake, you must. It's the only way she'll help us this next day or two. Remember it's not just about her."

Ros moved toward her desk and Ruth instinctively into Harry's office. He wasn't there, it was his twice weekly meeting with the DG, but she found herself looking there anyway. How long had this been planned? she wondered. From the beginning, she knew. It was how this game worked.

* * *

It was getting late, toward dinnertime, when Tariq called Ros over excitedly.

"Essam is making a call from his second phone. We've had both phones tapped, but apart from checking with Bushra's mother some hours ago, he hasn't made anything other than work calls all day. But the police rang him half an hour ago to tell him about the accident."

"But now?" Ros asked, moving closer.

The comms answered her.

"Yes?" said a voice at the end of Essam's call.

"It's Amir. About my wife."

"Is it done?" the unknown man replied coldly. "You were told not to ring until it was done."

"My wife was in a car accident this afternoon. The police say it was a nasty accident, her body beyond recognition. They are comparing the dental records which will take some time."

"It's him," Tariq confirmed as the voice analysis software beeped in recognition.

The second man's voice resumed: "This had better not be a doublecross, Amir. You know what the punishment will be if she is found alive."

"I do. Truly, I was prepared. But she is dead. It was her car, apparently she drove into the back of a tanker. It took them hours to cut her from the car and then several hours again to get in touch."

"Do you have a trace yet, Tariq?" Ros asked urgently. "He'll sign off any second."

"Almost." The techie chewed his thumb absently.

"You will call me again as soon as you know for certain. And meet me tomorrow. The usual place."

The second man hung up, followed by Amir. Tariq sighed in exasperation.

"There was a scrambling device on it, Ros, I couldn't narrow it down beyond a square mile. In Newham somewhere."

Ros sighed. "Let's hope Ruth and Lucas get something from Bushra then. And we'll have another crack at him tomorrow, follow him to whatever meeting he's going to. In the meantime, we'd better get her to a safehouse."

Lucas gathered the personal effects Bushra had handed over reluctantly. He had only prised them from her after explaining that this group could have the ability to track her via her telephone and that it needed to be destroyed. After the phone was smashed convincingly with a hammer and her wallet smeared with grease, a burqa taken from her luggage was added. She had been supplied with a change of clothes, so that her luggage could be picked up by her husband at the morgue the next day. Along with the generic, clear plastic pocket he now filled with her small, everyday items. Keys, jewellery, her wedding ring (it had taken Ruth's help for that one)...it all went in. Lucas breathed a sigh of relief. Just a swing by the morgue on the way home and maybe they could start to find the Mr Big eluding them.

Lucas paused at Ruth's desk. She was blanched and clearly exhausted.

"It will get better tomorrow, Ruth. We'll find out why it is he's after her."

Ruth smiled wanly and got up, grabbing some loose files that needed to be returned to the Registry. "Thanks Lucas." She hurried away, ducking towards Harry's office to see what he needed returned. He often forgot to send back what he didn't need, and she had fallen quickly back into the old habit of cleaning up after him a little.

"You're the not the Registry clerk, Ruth."

Startled to be caught in his office, she turned.

"Good thing you're not or we'd never know where anything is. I'm going downstairs, what are you done with? They're not in your usual piles."

Harry smiled and walked over, taking what she had in her hands into his. Their hands met briefly in contact, and they glanced at each other as they did so, feeling the tension in the air. Harry broke the moment first, realising he was staring and sorted quickly through his desk.

"These too," he said. "Thanks Ruth. Bushra. How was she when she left?"

"Angry. With me as well as her husband. I was the messenger Harry, she may well clam up tomorrow. She never knew I worked here at Five. It's all part of a larger betrayal."

"It is, but we'll get the bottom of this tomorrow, I promise. We have a clear lead on Amir meeting the other man, perhaps we can glean something from that."

"You shouldn't promise things, Harry. This is a terror plot, an imminent attack. We don't know what tomorrow brings."

"No," Harry said softly. "But we start it with better intelligence than we did today. It's enough."

"We're missing something Harry, I know it."

Harry sighed, switching off his office light. "It will get better, Ruth."

How he was to regret those words, so carelessly uttered. He could only blame them on wanting to quiet her fears, hoping her rest would be easy. For now, it was enough and Ruth headed downstairs to the Registry while Harry looked after her longingly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Marathon chapter but a really important one so please stick with me. I've been assured it moves sufficiently along without too much plot. But if you disagree, please tell me. **

"Bushra arrives when?" Harry's brusque question opened the morning briefing, beginning an hour earlier than usual. The team knew they were in for a long day, but even Harry did not anticipate just how interminable it would seem by its eventual end.

"She'll be here in half an hour. Ruth and I will continue the de-brief downstairs." Lucas liked mornings. There was something about their new beginnings that appealed to him, the anticipation of the unexpected. "But it does mean we need to rope in Wendy again today to help Ros track Amir to his meeting with...whoever our masked man is."

"Lucky me." Ros smiled back at Lucas.

"It's not so bad, you can compare heel heights," Lucas grinned.

"And leg lengths!" Tariq thought.

Harry grimaced. "Well Ros, whatever you and Wendy manage to talk about, do us a favour and and find out who The Lone Ranger is. We can't afford to go another day without knowing his identity. Everything we know about this so far suggests that the attack will take place sometime this week, and their haste in wanting to deal with Bushra would seem to corroborate that."

Harry snapped his head around. "Where is Ruth?"

"I'm here, I'm here!" She bustled in, trying not to drop the files she was carrying on the arrangements for the PM's protection in ____ that coming weekend. She distributed the copies quickly, beginning with Harry, but as she brushed past he caught her scent, lingering long after she had moved on. It was as though he had been winded. Since returning to Section D she had worn a new, unfamiliar scent, equally lovely but new and more confident. This morning she had reverted to wearing the old fragrance that had cloaked her in the early days, the days of hope as Harry sometimes sentimentally thought of them. Scent is the sense most closely associated with memory, and Harry blanched as he recalled a time when that smell evoked the most carnal of responses in him. Truthfully, it really wasn't so different now. The old wound was ripped open anew, as it seemed to be several times every day since her return.

"Harry?" Ros was watching him, indeed, all the team were focused on his bemused expression. He struggled to remember where he was as the sensual aroma faded into the ether of the commonplace. He shook his head, as though wigging water from his ears after a swim.

He gulped. "I'm concerned about the number of officers we're required to front over the weekend."

* * *

Bushra was even more distant today, determined to be unhelpful. She was still angry, Ruth knew - she had been the bearer of bad news, the herald foreshadowing the end of Bushra's old life. No wonder she was enraged. For now, Ruth focused on identifying anything unusual in her friend's life that might explain why she now sat across from her, a hunted woman. Or rather, presumed dead.

"I have told you already, Ruth." Bushra's voice was flat and cold as the air inside the closeted room. "He has done nothing differently with me for weeks."

Ruth sighed imperceptibly. Lucas stepped in. "I know, Bushra. Perhaps we should try any new people who might have visited the house recently. Any changes in his routine. Anything unusual he might have asked you to do recently."

The laborious process continued for hours until Ruth noticed a recurring absence of activity on Sunday afternoons. She interrupted Lucas as he drilled Bushra for information on her husband's morning routine. "Bushra, what about Sundays in the afternoon. It's Amir's only time off every week and you said he spends it at the house. What does he do? It's a much longer period than any other he spends at the house during the day."

"He usually spends it with Emir and some other boys he knows from his football team. He used to coach, but now there is no time..."

Ruth cut her off. "Bushra, is it just the boys? And do they stay in the garden or in the house?"

"Both. They usually have a game in the garden and then come inside. One of the boys' fathers comes too, often. His name is Danish, he teaches at the local high school in Newham."

Lucas looked at her intently. "How often does this man come to your house, Bushra?"

"I think he met my husband about six weeks ago. He came over for lunch, and now he comes often."

"Has he only ever come on Sunday?" Lucas' eyes gleamed. Was this it?

"He was at home for dinner about a week ago. And then he and Amir had coffee in the study."

Ruth interlaced her fingers and leant forward. "What's his last name, Bushra?"

"I don't know. But he teaches Chemistry at the school."

Lucas and Ruth left the room briefly some time later.

"I'll get Tariq on the voiceprint, we need to know if this man on the phone is Danish. Hopefully Ros can get a photo this afternoon and we can verify that this is the guy." Lucas was thoughtful, and made to move upstairs.

"Lucas, I'm not sure this is enough. It can't simply be that Bushra knows this man, surely it would be more than that. That she could point the finger at him as an associate or acquaintance or whatever he is. The boys from the football team can do that too."

Lucas paused but then brushed away the vague unease he felt at Ruth's probing analysis. "Sometimes it's all the justification they need, Ruth, but keep pressing her if you think there's something more."

****************************

Ruth continued to talk to Bushra, pushing her for every detail she could remember about their handful of meetings over the last month. What did they talk about at dinner? How much time did the men spend alone in the study? In which language did they commonly converse? It was a quiz result upon which so many lives might depend. And the right answer wasn't just waiting to be read from an index card. But for once, the thrill of the chase was gnawing at Ruth's insides.

"And last Wednesday night? They had coffee in the study?"

"Yes," Bushra groaned. "I brought it to them."

"And this time they were speaking in Arabic? As opposed to the Urdu they usually speak when they are alone together?" Ruth hesitated, wondering how significant this might be. Nothing could be discounted, she reminded herself. Not at this point.

"Yes, I don't use it much myself these days unless I'm with Mother, but it's solid enough."

Ruth permitted herself a smile. Bushra saying she was solid in something meant she was very much still above average. "Did they break off when you entered?" she pressed on.

"Initially. But then Amir sort of waved and they kept talking."

Ruth's eyes glittered, sensing an opening. "What did they say?"

"They were discussing several boys from Danish's school. Their talents, strengths, so forth."

Ruth leaned back into her chair, suppressing the sigh that came unbidden.

"Those boys are boys Amir has been interested in for some time, I have met them. They used to be on the football team he coached, and Danish apparently taught them a few years back. A level students, I believe now. Danish sent Amir an email about them just this week. It seems the boys are to start coaching their own teams early, before school, beginning this week."

The adrenaline coursed through Ruth's veins once again. "What email? How do you know what the boys are doing?"

"Amir and I have a joint account, we share....."

Lucas re-entered the room, and a jumpy Ruth simply looked at him. He knew immediately that she was close, that look of the hunter was common to all Spooks, no matter their department. It was the look of recognition as a trail turned hot, as the realization came home that perhaps these endless hours of talk might actually lead somewhere.

"We might have something. Bushra, you opened an email. For whom? And from whom?"

"It was to Amir, from Danish. I didn't recognize the sender's address, so I opened it."

Lucas got there first. "The contents, Bushra. The details."

Bushra swallowed. "It was just about the boys playing football." (Lucas glanced at Ruth; she shook her head slightly, not wanting to interrupt Bushra in the flow of revelation.) "It had three locations, one in central London, the others.....I'm not sure, I can't remember."

"The boys, Bushra. What are their names?" Lucas asked quickly.

**************************

Ruth hurried upstairs while Lucas remained with Bushra, trying to get her to remember what she had seen. She burst into Harry's office as of old, not pausing to knock. Harry looked up expectantly, almost smiling at the old familiarity of her action.

"I think we have it, Harry."

Even as he felt relief that this might turn out better than had hoped, Harry couldn't help but appreciate Ruth's excitement. Her flushed cheeks and gabbled speech made her so lovely, so young. She positively sparkled when moments like these came her way. He became alert to her words.

"It seems that Danish and Amir have recruited students from Newham _______ in order to carry out attacks. We have names, but not locations, but we should be able to retrieve them if we can get to the house while Amir and Danish are meeting later today. We can do it, Harry. Lucas and I can do it, we'll go together with Bushra and get the locations, but it looks like it's meant to take place tomorrow."

Harry smiled briefly, it sounded promising and he told her so, cautiously. "But why do you need to go with Lucas? And why Bushra too?"

"Oh," Ruth paused, realising she had missed a step. "The laptop is fingerprint and eye scan protected so we need Bushra."

"Fancy."

"Well, yes. Protective of personal security certainly. Lucas will be outside for us, and Bushra has no idea how to use a USB and we need to copy of his email, as well as whatever other intelligence we can get. We can't pass up an opportunity to crack into his personal laptop, Harry. This is his PRIVATE account. We never had access to that when we were building the initial profile. Who knows how far or deep his contacts go, or if indeed this is the only cell? And what if there is a code used for the locations? It makes sense......"

"For you to go, I agree. It is the most sensible solution, and we're badly stretched. This way we get a headstart and maybe get further into Tehreek-ul-Mujahideen. And she saw this email?"

"Yes, we think this is why she was meant to be killed. He was apparently very angry when he discovered that she had opened it, but then suddenly dismissed the subject and said no more about it. Has the morgue guy contacted Amir to confirm that it was her in the car?"

Harry nodded. "Tariq caught the morgue call and then was on the call to the-man-we-think-is-Danish about half an hour ago. We still couldn't get a trace on the call, which means Ros and Wendy are definitely on reconnaissance this afternoon, I want a look at the bastard. And then maybe we can put a picture in front of Bushra and get strict confirmation that this is him. She never recognized the voice on the phone, did she?"

"No. But her ear isn't the best, it never has been. What time do they meet? And do we know where or is it still the 'usual place'?"

Harry smiled at the off-hand reference to the life Ruth and her friend had once shared. It was so like her to remember the small details about how a person learned and remembered. "5pm. We don't know where, so no, Ros and Wendy will have to get as close as they can and use their considerable brains to good effect. Find out whether Bushra knows what type of car the man drives."

Ruth nodded eagerly. "We'll make sure that we're there ready to go at the house as soon as we can. And afterwards I'll send Lucas back with the memory stick to get Tariq started and drop Bushra off myself."

Harry looked up quickly from the file he was now skimming - he had not trusted himself to maintain eye contact with Ruth any longer without wondering whether her lips were as soft as he remembered from that one, sad kiss so very long ago. "You'll be careful, Ruth. Make sure you change cars and....."

She laughed a little. "Harry, I can manage counter surveillance. I did well on that part, or at least, I got better at it." She walked toward the door but turned back as she slid the door open. "Thanks Harry. I'll get Lucas to talk me through it before we leave. Just in case. You never know who's watching the watchers. You might have someone from Section ___ checking up on me, making sure I'm doing allright since...." she faltered. She had not mentioned her return in some time, and certainly never mentioned Cyprus.

"I have no doubt, Ruth. If I was checking up on you, it wouldn't be for that." He couldn't resist watching her flush slightly, just as she caught the glint in his eye as she quickly turned and hurried away.

_____

It had been a long afternoon, and as Ros and Wendy tailed the black Audi, three others waited down the street from Bushra's former home. The anxious mother had spent the last few hours asking the same question every way possible - where is my son and is he safe? His whereabouts were unknown and they had not made anything beyond basic enquiries so far; to do so would only alert Amir's family, and who knew how far this went? Who knew if the boy was even with relatives? For now, they waited in tense silence, waiting for Ros to tell them that Amir had stopped.

Ros glanced down at Wendy's heel shod feet below the passenger seat. She didn't like to entrust the driving to anyone she did not know absolutely. "I understand, I wear heels too, but I'm not sure they're exactly running shoes. This isn't a chick flick."

Wendy shrugged. Ros' cynicism didn't bother her, this was the Section Chief's manner of small-talk. "One of us will be staying with the car, I'm guessing. And I'm fairly confident you won't let me make the approach or take the picture. So even if I couldn't run in them, which I can, there's no need, is there?"

Ros almost smiled through her annoyance. She could see why Lucas liked her.

"The even-if technique. Works every time." Wendy followed up her advantage, not quite realising she had pushed her luck as much as Ros would tolerate for now, The older woman opened her mouth to retort, but closed it again as Amir took a sudden turn into a sidestreet.

"Damn. No public meeting then." Ros stopped the car and barrelled out, grabbing the paparazzi worthy camera with her as she went, concealed in a doctor's bag. Wendy slid over awkwardly into the driver's seat and switched on her comms headset.

"Bravo One, target has stopped. Proceed as planned."

* * *

Bushra pressed her index finger to the scan pad, and then crouched in front of the webcam that provided the eye scan. Ruth set about getting what she needed, while Bushra looked silently around. Nothing was different, nothing that would indicate that Amir had told people she was dead. He really must be against her.

Ruth was in the email already, and downloading the contents as swiftly as possible. She made a separate file for the email in question; thankfully it was only sitting in the trash folder and not deleted completely. It was a matter of minutes to download the contents of the hard-drive, and then only a few more as she deleted the history and covered her tracks. Amir would have to look very hard for evidence of intrusion to find what smear of data remained of their theft.

Lucas popped in just as they were shutting it down. "Ros has a picture. She's going to try and get some audio as well, but you two should get going if you have everything. Ros and Wendy will meet you at the safe house to show you the picture and confirm whether Danish is the man or not as soon as they're free."

Ruth slipped him the USB. "For Tariq. No codes that I can tell."

The two women hurried out, leaving Lucas to lock the door behind them. They left in the discreet navy blue Mazda, not noticing the silver Lexus that trailed after them. Nor did Lucas see it with his back to the street, as it was on the other side of the small landscaped strip with tall trees that lined the wide road. He left in the other car around the corner, without a tail as Ruth and Bushra drove on toward the safe house that was now Bushra's sanctuary.

* * *

"No audio," Ros grumbled, getting into the car. "But a nice picture I got from the top of an adjacent wall. I've missed my calling, it seems."

"They left a few minutes ago," Wendy replied. "Lucas sent the girls on their way more than ten minutes ago, so even with counter-surveillance, they'll be there by the time we get there."

They were unhurried as they drove, hitting some traffic as peak-hour hit the city outskirts. There was no urgency in their approach. But as they walked down the alley into the former shop's entrance, the door ajar signalled something badly wrong. Guns drawn, the women crept in, only to discover an empty house and an overturned lamp. Wendy immediately tried Ruth's phone, only to discover it was switched off. Ros swallowed hard and spoke to Tariq directly.

"Bravo Two, get Harry. The safe house has been compromised. Ruth and Bushra aren't here. Someone's onto us."

************************************

_Please don't kill me! Leave a review!_


	6. Chapter 6

**Two of my friends on .uk had influence on this chapter. Kirmostar begged for a shirtless Lucas and YourFutureMuse was allowed to choose a word to be incorporated into the story in return for doing her history paper. She chose the word 'Nemo'. **

At that moment, Harry was in a meeting with Richard Dalby that had predictably run overtime. The Chairman of the JIC needed briefing on the PM's visit to _____ that weekend, and Harry spent more time in explaining the more pressing threat. It eventually fell to Lucas to explain what had happened in his absence. Lucas followed him slowly into his office, and watched his fearless leader shrug his overcoat from his broad shoulders. The younger man knew he was about to burden those shoulders once again; that an already lined face would be even more world weary by this story's conclusion.

"Harry," Lucas began, "Tariq has the memory stick with the contents of Essam's home computer. He has the targets for tomorrow at 8am, and the three boys who are to carry out the attacks."

"Excellent." Harry flashed a rare smile, but then paused at the sombre expression on Lucas' face. "I take it we didn't manage a tail on Danish Talat? Apart from not having the manpower...."

"The meeting took place in such a place that tailing him was impossible under the circumstances. But Harry, we now have another problem. It seems that Bushra's safe house was compromised. Ros and Wendy are following what small leads Tariq was able to source from CCTV, but it seems she was abducted by a man Wendy reckons is a dead ringer for one of the goons following Bushra in the Lexus yesterday."

Harry sighed. "How was she compromised? Did Ruth see anything before she left?"

Lucas paused ever so briefly before Harry's face betrayed his thoughts. "Ruth's gone too, isn't she?"

"Yes," Lucas reluctantly admitted. "She's been taken too."

The cold, ruthless Harry the team knew from countless operations disappeared for just a moment. He gripped the back of his chair tightly, his knuckles white. And then he spoke in the calm voice of one who knew not what else to do. "Tell Tariq to get on the contents of the hard drive and bring me a list of those targets immediately. Call Peters in Section _____ and tell him to send me his analyst at once, and someone from HR to rope in another techie to follow Ruth's trail before it goes cold. I think we can assume the women are with Essam."

Lucas shook his head. "Amir Essam is back in his family home, Harry. We have him under surveillance, but no, he must have gone straight from the meeting to his house."

"Then they're with Talat," Harry said heavily. "Get those boys under surveillance at once. Those bombs cannot go off and we need to find Ruth simultaneously. We find Talat, we find Ruth."

* * *

The van rocked from side to side as the two women inside struggled in vain against their bindings. Ruth strained to rub her face against the rough timber that was her uneasy bed, desperately trying to force the gag from her mouth. Too many people underestimated her in the field. She would not go quietly into that good night, she was determined. Splinters cut her face, the skin rubbed raw on her forehead and chin, but she was able to spit out the gag and regain some ability to talk. She tried to hush Bushra's desperate cries, stifled through her dirty smile built of rags.

"Bushra, listen to me, LISTEN TO ME!" Her voice was low but urgent, and she channelled Ros, trying to capture the same stillness that so commanded her reluctant respect. "I need you to remember what I am about to say. I am not Ruth Evershed, MI-5 desk analyst. I am Ruth Elliott, private detective." She took a deep breath and proceeded to outline the brief legend on which their lives now depended.

Lucas scooped the water from the deep sink, hoping that by partially bathing he might keep himself awake. He had been on the Grid most of the night before, and it looked as though tonight would be another marathon. Stripped to his waist, he rubbed the chamois over his torso, trying not to think about where Ruth and Bushra might be and what might be happening to them at that very moment. He heard Ruth's cries in his head, her anguish and relief at being rescued seconds away from death. He had been more suited to torture, to interrogation that lasted for months on end. What chance did Ruth have? He bent again to the sink, trying not to inhale the water, as it only served once again to bring back evil memories. His tattoos shone dimly in the grainy light, his back curved, his face averted from the door.

"You sure you used enough water? There's enough you might just find Nemo swimming about in there."

How Ros entered so silently in heels he would never know. "This is the men's room, Ros, you should probably whip yours out."

Ros permitted herself a smile - it was the only time she was likely to do so that long night. "More bad news I'm afraid. Those three boys have gone to ground. Wendy's been to their place of study - school records seem to suggest they've been absent since Friday of last week. Obviously, we'll have Special Forces ready to go in the morning at all three targets and we're doing the usual things but so far, we've got bugger all."

"Ruth's mobile hasn't been active?" Lucas sighed exasperatedly.

"No. Tariq has an active tracker on it, so if at any point it's in use, we'll know about and have a trace quickly. But for now she's on her own."

**********************************

Ruth lay dazed and broken, wishing she was not able to feel the pain radiating from every part of her lower body. Bushra screamed again.

"She is a detective. I hired her to check on Amir, he is away so much, I thought," her sobbing impeded speech, her panic full-blown, "I thought he was sleeping with another. And he was! Ruth found out, she had pictures, I saw them!"

Talat's thin face showed his displeasure. He cursed, resolving that Essam would be dealt with once the current operation was completed. He had suspected this to be the case, and cursed again, blaming himself for not resolving this problem earlier. He returned his attention to Ruth.

"You arranged for Bushra to 'die'?" he demanded. "That takes resources."

"She wanted to leave her husband, have a chance at a new life....." Ruth's voice trailed off as she slipped out of consciousness. She could see her own old, new life, the sunshine in Cyprus, hear Nico playing with his friends in the garden....

Talat slapped her awake without ceremony. "Why did you not have anything with you? No bag, nothing."

Ruth tried to swallow and found her mouth was too dry to do so. "It was in the car. Your man could not have looked properly." By now, Ruth figured the car would be back in the hands of MI-5, and there would be no way to check the veracity of this statement. Lucas had not let her into the car with any identification, a wise precaution in hindsight. It would have all been over.

She tried to force the cogs of her tired mind to grind their weary revolution. Only by using her wits did they have a chance of staying alive long enough to be found. Basic training, she almost breathed.

"You have meddled in things that do not concern you! We will check up on you, make sure you are who you say you are!" Talat bellowed. The young man who had brought them to this hell stepped forward out from the shadows and dragged Ruth roughly to her feet, shaking her like the proverbial rag doll. Ruth clung to the image of sunshine that lay behind her closed eyes, but it was Harry's face that swam in her mind's whirl, his eyes bleeding with hurt as she called him a "heartless bastard". She longed for him, even as the blows rained down upon her.

* * *

"Danish and Talat have spoken once earlier this evening, but it was a ten second call, Harry. No trace, and all Talat said when Essam picked up was "The sun will rise tomorrow". Tariq motioned toward the plainly dressed, gimlet eyed research boffin seated behind Ruth's desk. "Patricia says that it could be a confirmation signal for the attack." He rolled his eyes. Tariq had little patience for people who reiterated the painfully obvious.

Harry lost his temper for the first time in that neverending day. "It COULD be? You COULD really do with a refresher in the mechanics of being an analyst."

Foolish woman that she was, Patricia started to answer back, but Harry was already on his way back to his office. He covered his face briefly with his left hand, while his right gently massaged the top of his upper thigh. It was a calming motion he indulged in without even thinking about it anymore and he tried to talk himself down from the panic he had managed to suppress for some hours now. For a moment, it overwhelmed him, images of Ruth being brutalized, her eyes wide with panic and terror. Watching yet another person she cared for being hurt. He had sworn this would never happen again, and yet only months after her return, here she was, once again in mortal danger. He heard her scream in his head and he ached with loneliness and fear.

* * *

They had eventually been left alone, and Bushra had held her old friend as they waited for the men to return. Ruth's beating had ceased only when she choked, the retching induced by being kicked in the stomach and she was quietly glad she wasn't any stronger. How much longer would she have endured if she was as hardy as Ros or Lucas? Bushra quietly sobbed her apologies.

Ruth struggled to speak. "'Ra," she started hoarsely, once again using the old term of endearment. "It wasn't my fault, or your fault - apart from the fact that we were captured, that was all me. But they are animals. You did not beat me."

Bushra started to speak, but was interrupted by the solid door opening into the dank interior. Talat entered, ominously flanked by his henchman.

"The agency checks out. No operatives are listed, but I am sure we can confirm what we know in the morning. And we have your phone, so we can contact your boss." Ruth thanked Malcolm silently for the false website he had planted just before he left in trying to find leads on one particularly unfaithful rogue. And thanked God it had not been disabled.

He turned to Bushra. "Now you, on the other hand. A whore who left her husband, planning to find another man, deserting her family. Such betrayal cannot go unanswered."

It happened so quickly the two women barely had time to react. Talat had drawn a gun and pointed it directly at them without flinching. They clung to one another in terror as they screamed, but then Ruth realised she was the only one wailing. Bushra's head was flung backwards, a single hole in her forehead. The sound of the gunshot echoed later. Ruth held her once teenage companion close, sobbing, as Talat gave the men a curt directive and left the room abruptly. She tried very hard not to see what the bullet had done to Bushra's soft flesh, and she saw George's head blown to bits as she rocked the dead girl in her arms.

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	7. Chapter 7

**I am *so* sorry that the section breaks did not appear properly in the last four chapters – I swear that they were there. The site has been playing funny buggers with me of late. They are now all in there. **

**The penultimate chapter! **

* * *

Ruth wasn't sure how long she had sat there sobbing over Bushra's body. At least this time she could weep over a body and mourn like any normal person. It was something she had never been able to do for George, which only compounded her misery over that whole catastrophic affair.

After a time her crying slowed, but she found herself gripped in panic, scarcely able to breathe. She lay down and closed her eyes, conjugating French verbs in her head, chanting softly under her breath. She could have been a teenager again, in her room, trying to drown out the noise of her mother and stepfather arguing over everything and nothing. Trying to forget Peter and all the problems he had brought into her life, the stripping of her innocence he had so callously revelled in. The rhythmic lilt of the language slowed her heart rate and eventually she was able to sit up and assess what she had left to bargain, to fight with. Aching, bleeding, but alive. She set her jaw - and then cried out in pain. Her face was hardly up to aggressive demonstrations of self motivation right now. She would make do with what she always returned to, her one asset that had always protected her. Her mind. If she could postpone the inevitable, she might last long enough for her colleagues to find her. Even if she was expendable, Talat was not. They would want Talat with bloodlust. She resisted the urge to nod to herself. They would come, they MUST come.

"Oh Harry....." she whispered. She indulged in the fantasy she had resisted for so long, and allowed herself to think about what it might feel like to have Harry hold her. On a couch, in front of a television, after enjoying dinner, preferably one they had cooked together. It might be the last daydream she would ever have, she might as well make it the best.

Ros slipped into Harry's office around six in the morning. He had clearly not left his office in hours, and he was dozing lightly but jerked awake, sensing her presence. She sat opposite him and smiled gently, not bothering to express concern at his appearance. The last thing Harry needed was mothering.

"I briefed the Home Secretary some hours ago. He wasn't happy about being woken in the night, but he forgave me, I think."

Harry grimaced but resisted the urge to tell the crass joke his weariness prompted in him. "I'm sure he wasn't happy about the threat level being raised."

"No," admitted Ros, "but he knows that it's right and that we'd be flying in the face of reason not to tell the truth about this one, especially if it doesn't end well."

"He's a politician Ros, I'm not sure reason or truth have much to do with it. Or with him, for that matter. I'd hardly say they were on nodding terms."

Ros waited, ignoring his bluster that was delivered with more bitterness than usual. The man was clearly in pain.

Harry sighed. "I'm concerned about what happens if Talat has a remote trigger for these bombs. He'll have a contingency for if they don't follow through. We need Talat by 8am every bit as badly as those wretched bombers."

"I know." Ros took a deep breath. "We also need Essam picked up at the same time. Tariq is very pleased with what he's got off that memory stick. It hasn't directly named any other cells, but they almost certainly exist, and there's enough data in that report to keep Ruth happy for....". She broke off. "We'll be having briefings for some time and we will find existing cells in the UK thanks to what's on there."

"What troubles me now," Harry began, raising his voice slightly, but was cut off before going any further. Lucas popped his head in the open door.

"You'll both want to see this."

******************************

Talat marched into the room, Ruth's mobile in his left hand, his right holding the gun high, pointed at her. Ruth faced him impassively, determined not to show her pain.

"Stand." He imperiously gestured with the gun. "On your feet."

Ruth struggled, but took her time. She could see the mobile had been switched on, and she prayed that whoever had found the empty safe house had also realised that her mobile was not there, that it had been taken with her. Even if they believed it destroyed, she held firm to the faith that Tariq would have a tap on its signal. As she shakily faced him after hobbling to a standing position, it was fully switched on. It was only time now, surely.

"Your phone. I need you to find your boss' number in this phone. I will then call him, say your phone was lost, and get your details so I can return it to you." He smiled, his thin lips curving, but his eyes remaining cold and cruel. "I will, of course, apologize for such an _early_ call."

Ruth waited, playing out every second for what it was worth. She pretended to stumble and Talat slapped her broadly across the left side of her face with the handgun. "No games," he said quietly.

* * *

Tariq looked around in triumph at Ros and Harry. "The tap on Ruth's phone paid off, her phone's been switched on. And whatever else is going on, there's no scrambling device in the area, no jamming.....we're getting a location. C'mon!" Tariq bounced in his seat. His excitement was infectious, and Ros reached for the phone, planning to send Special Forces in at once. "Here it comes....she's at ________, it's a side street and......" Tariq realized Harry was no longer behind him. Their leader was already at the pods.

"Ros, get me a car out the front right away. Lucas, with me."

The two men were barely in the car before Harry's phone rang. Harry looked at the screen, not registering the number but went to answer it when Lucas cried "No! Harry, wait!"

Harry realized what might be happening. Not many people would answer their phone so promptly just past 6am, and this was not a number given to just anyone. "Talat!" he breathed. He let it ring a moment longer and then hit the green key. He put on his best sleepy voice. "'Lo?" he slurred. "Who is this?"

**********************************

Having played for time, Ruth had tremblingly pressed the keys to Harry's private number. She could not have even said why she chose Harry over Lucas or Ros, she merely did it without thinking. She had handed over the phone before blinking, and was terrified as she realised that, once again, her life was in Harry Pearce's hands.

"I am so sorry to wake you," Talat was purring, "but last night I found this phone in a bar and I _so_ wanted to return it to its owner. This was the first number in the directory under "Boss". Do you know who this phone might belong to, sir?"

For one awful second, Harry wondered whether they were about to send Special Forces into the residence of some kindly punter. Then his tired brain recognized Talat's voice - it was undoubtedly him. How foolish!

"Erm, that's good of you......". Harry rolled his eyes at Lucas. "Just let me look at the number again with the lamp on, uh......." (he inserted various noises that he thought might be appropriate for an old man roused from sleep) "this belongs to an employee of mine. Perhaps," Harry tried to sound more awake, "I could arrange to pick it up from you, and return it to her."

Lucas checked the morning traffic anxiously. They were still a few miles away with several major intersections between Ruth and their present location.

"Perhaps. Which employee, may I ask? I recall it being a young woman at the bar stool in question."

Harry paused only briefly before rolling the dice. He gambled on the knowledge that Ruth had not changed her first name when she had left England for Cyprus, and that under duress she would be likely to use her first name to avoid confusion. He trusted in his instinct, and he trusted in Ruth as a creature of habit he loved.

"Her name is Ruth and I know she will be so grateful to have it back. I'm sure she wouldn't want you to go to any trouble, perhaps you could tell me where you work and I will send her to you. That way you won't be inconvenienced."

The phone went dead. Harry's eyes met those of his younger colleague. "Was it enough?" He dared not contemplate what happened next, as it was Ruth might have only a minute. Lucas checked his watch.

"Special Forces should be there in under two minutes, Harry."

* * *

Talat hung up. He turned suddenly, and hurled the phone at the wall, where it smashed into pieces. Ruth met his returning gaze fully. She had done what she could; if procedure had been followed then help was not too far away. She exhaled. Talat pushed her to the floor roughly.

"You think this saves you, woman? Now I know you are only a private detective, there is no harm in killing you." He raised his gun again, as Ruth scrambled backwards toward the wall. So much for Dylan Thomas. Her fight was over and this was how it would all end.

Talat's phone rang and he dropped the hand holding the gun briefly. He answered, and it was only when he raised the firearm again that Ruth realised she had missed her one chance for freedom. Why did she not try to disarm him?

Because she was not Ros or Jo or Lucas or any of the other fine officers she had worked with. She was not the operative in the field this situation had called for. She had once again failed herself, failed to see a way out before being blocked in. Talat hung up and smiled again.

The door burst open, an officer opening fire as Talat turned. He had not the time to get off his first bullet before he was cut down and Ruth cowered as the sound of gunfire filled her ears. Too often these last months she had heard that noise and she continued to crouch and shake long after the echoes of gunfire had faded. She was hardly aware of the officer gripping her shoulders, telling her she was safe. All she felt was Bushra's hold as Talat had pulled the gun on them only hours ago......

The car had barely stopped before Harry had flung himself from the car. Lucas followed, watching as Harry flashed his ID and leaving him to have the report from the ranking officer on site. The older man hit the footpath running, and hurried inside, his head swivelling from left to right, passing empty rooms until he encountered the huddle of activity in the small second bedroom. Empty except for a lamp glowing brightly in the now strong morning light, a huge bulk of an officer, and the woman he loved cowering behind him. The officer stepped aside, and went outside the door seeing the look on Harry's unguarded face as he approached. He knelt to her level and whispered her name softly. "Ruth."

She tried to breathe, the cliché rang absolutely true. She was frightened it was an illusion, that he wasn't really there. Harry tried again. "Ruth, I'm here."

She slowly raised her head, and he tried hard not to show her how shocked he was. Her face was covered in bruises, the skin rubbed raw in several places. Her wrists covered in rope burns. But her eyes were those he remembered as well as his own reflection, and he smiled. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again as the paramedics entered, the clatter of the gurney putting an end to any conversation they might have had. Her tears brimmed over and Harry found himself wishing he might have had a moment longer.

***************************

She sat on the edge of the hospital bed, her legs dangling over like a child's. Her dressings had been changed, and she had been told she had a visitor. There could be no doubt as to who it might be.

Harry slipped inside, his eyes bright with anticipation, but trying not to appear overly eager to see her hurt and vulnerable. Strangely, he was without his customary tie and jacket - just his shirtsleeves, a few top buttons undone. Almost as though he had been sleeping in those hard, plastic seats in the emergency waiting room, or an empty patient's room. As though reading her thoughts, he smiled again. The warm smile he saved just for her, that reached his eyes and crinkled them in their corners.

"I'm sorry I'm half undressed, I'm afraid the lodgings weren't exactly conducive to restful slumber."

She managed a weak smile in turn. "You've had a ridiculously long day Harry, the last place you need to be is here."

Harry leaned against the one door wardrobe, as nondescript as everything else in this colourless room. "Not at all. I'm exactly where I need to be tonight."

**Please review – it takes a long time to put a fic like this together and it really does make my day, even if it's constructive criticism.**


	8. Chapter 8

**The credit for the latter part of the episode goes to Silktie, who suggested the set-up on the HR thread on the smaller spooks forum a couple of months back.**

I've loved reading your feedback. Please leave me one final review.

* * *

Lucas sighed heavily. It had been hours since he and Ros had apprehended the third of the three suicide bombers Talat had ordered to their deaths, yet here they were, working through the mire of paperwork that would last them well into the next few weeks.

Ros grinned. "Yes, I'll take the hint. We should both get going. We've got ______ tomorrow on the PM's security detail. If something happens to him......"

Lucas stood up and stretch. "Sighing is a completely normal part of the respiratory system, Ros. They have sighs inbuilt with respirators and life support machines."

Ros looked quizzically at her colleague. "I suppose one of your interesting medical facts is that when you're tired you're cursed with verbal diarrhea." She stood up too as Lucas guffawed. "Those kids will need to be interrogated on Monday along with Essam, but I'd like a crack at them on Sunday before Special Branch want to be there too. So there's goes what little of a weekend we had left."

Lucas tilted his head, adding "Terrorism waits for no man, Ros." He stretched again. "Tariq got some numbers from Talat's phone that could prove useful along with everything from the USB. If we're really lucky this could give us a major jumpstart."

"More of a jumpstart than giving us the mobile numbers to track the bombers with in the first place? It will do for now, anyway." Ros was finding it hard to think much beyond her bed at that moment in time.

"Harry will be pleased, anyway. Well, as pleased as he ever can be." Lucas' grin vanished. "Where is Harry anyway? I'm surprised he's not back from everything with Special Branch - he left about 5 hours ago, didn't he?"

Ros sighed, in her turn. "He's at the hospital, with Ruth. I'm not sure pleased will be his mood for the next few days, at the very least."

There was a silence between the two as they gathered their coats and keys and wallets and headed through the pods. Lucas started to say something, thought better of it, and then returned to his initial impulse.

"Just exactly what is the deal between Ruth and Harry? She's his golden girl - how long has this thing been going on?"

Ros looked down at her boots, but nodded slightly, acknowledging that there was something going on between the analyst and their Section Head. "He is there on official business - partial debriefing, as well as telling her about the boy. As to whatever it is between them, it's been going on longer than my time with the Section, I know that much."

Harry listened to her talk about her time in that small, dark room, letting her get the worst of it off her chest. He forced himself to keep standing, although the recounting of her beatings made him tense with anger, almost trembling with it as he watched Ruth's face. She was covered with the evidence of brutal interrogation; but the doctor had assured him that she would heal, they were keeping her overnight to make sure there was no internal bleeding. Some cracked ribs, some broken toes, and bruises to almost all of her body - she would heal, he had said.

"Harry? I asked about the son. Emir? Do we know where he is yet?"

Harry looked her squarely in the eyes that haunted his dreams. "He's in Pakistan, we think in Rawalpindi. We've tried his maternal grandmother to see if she knows anything about Essam's family, but given the fictions he's been spinning all these years.....we don't know if we'll be able to find him, Ruth." He had managed to avoid Bushra's name, as Ruth had while she stiltingly told him of her captivity.

Ruth was looking anywhere except at him now. "He doesn't know about his mother, or his father's actions. He could well be there against his will. And we can't do anything." Her voice was flat, empty of emotion. She was thinking of another boy who had lost a parent captured by the wrong people. Harry knew it and anticipated what came next.

"She died, Harry. It was my fault. We were followed, I should have been more careful. And then, I should have worked it out longer, told a different legend, said other things....."

He interrupted her self recriminations and stepped nearer. "Listen to me, Ruth! No field officer could have done more. From what you've told me, the only reason Bushra wasn't shot when Talat laid eyes on her was because you had managed to spin her a legend in the van and then get the guard to pause long enough to get Talat there early. You gave her a fighting chance. And sometimes you can't shake a tail, it just happens that way."

Ruth, crying openly by now, shook her head furiously through the tears. Why, she wondered, did she always end up a quivering, tragic mess in front of him like this? "But there was a moment, when you rang, when I could have hurt him, grabbed the gun....."

Harry took her hands in his. "Ruth, it might have made it ever so slightly easier for Special Forces, but Bushra was already gone by then, you said so yourself."

She continued to sob. "But they followed me Harry! Are you saying that Lucas or Ros would have let that happen? They would have done it differently, you're not telling the truth, they might have been able to stop us from being taken...". She reluctantly withdrew her hands from his grip to wipe her eyes, and reached for the box of tissues beside her bed. She had cried for an hour after she was brought here, all while she was examined, but the tears were not done with her yet. "They would have done something, Harry! Something I didn't do, I missed someth..."

Harry cut her off by putting his arms around her. She was clearly panicking, her breathing shallow, and he ignored his impulse to run away, giving in to the baser instinct of wanting to hold her. "I understand," he said lightly once she stopped speaking, "that when someone is in distress you're meant to hold them. To slow their blood pressure and calm them." He tightened his grip as she pressed her head against his chest. "Physiological response. Human beings need to be touched."

She fell silent. In truth, she could hardly believe what was happening. It was the closest contact they had enjoyed in almost three years. She tried not to hiccup through the tears, suppressing them, but Harry realised her disquiet and released her long enough to sit next to her on the bed and pass her the tissues she so badly required. Ruth blew her nose somewhat loudly and tried to catch her breath as he draped an arm a little awkwardly around her shoulders and said softly: "Ruth. Neither Ros, nor Lucas, nor I could possibly have done any better. You protected yourself and your charge admirably and as your boss I can't have you blaming yourself like this."

She did not answer him, but slowly calmed down and regained some measure of normal breathing. They sat some moments in silence, and it was just as Ruth was beginning to enjoy his warmth and nearness that the nurse entered, telling him to leave.

* * *

It was a long month later, by which time most of Ruth's physical injuries had healed well. They had promising leads on several members of T-ul-M in Britain, and had surveillance on a man they suspected of leading a second cell. It was life as normal as Section D would allow.

But inside Ruth still squirmed. She knew that she had dealt with the operation as well as could be expected - better even. They had hard intelligence that would protect so many, yet she grieved for the old friend who had not survived that long day and night. Every day, her work was connected to Bushra, so even there she was unable to push the experience from her mind. And when she thought of the son, of whom they had no more news......

It had been a long time for Harry too. He was careful not to let her see him, but he often found ways to observe her on the Grid. He made excuses to speak to her more often, to have her come into his office, to talk to her alone on the roof. It was not unusual for them to share a meal at some point during the lengthy working day, and he was glad the old familiarity and teasing seemed to have returned to their relationship. But somehow, it was not enough. It never had been.

On a Saturday night, more than a month after it had all begun, Ruth waited in the artists' room of _______, apart from the other singers who mingled and chatted and sipped water gaily. She would have liked to join a better choir, one accompanied by a better orchestra with a conductor who managed to keep time, but it was enough for her, for now. She only really had that one night a week, but it was sufficient to keep the wolf at the door, at least for a while longer. She had told no-one her plans for the weekend; it was not as though she had anyone to invite, after all.

"Excuse me Miss?"

A young usher in a red coat several sizes too large had stopped in front of her, holding a creamy white envelope.

"Are you Miss Evershed?"

She nodded numbly. The boy handed her the envelope and stood there. Ruth went to open it, and realised the boy was still waiting. She looked up at him expectantly. He shrugged apologetically. "The man said I was to wait." She slit it open quickly, and flicked open the stiff card within, her heart leaping at the sight of such familiar handwriting. Harry's harsh scrawl jumped from the page:

"Ruth,

I am here tonight in the audience, but did not wish you to be surprised or angry while concentrating on your music. If you do not want me to stay, send word with whomever brought you the note. If not, I shall find you afterward.

Best,

Harry."

She slipped the card back into its sheath and nodded at the boy. "It's allright," she whispered, "he needn't go."

The boy nodded solemnly and dashed off, Ruth smiling at the idea of Harry earnestly approaching such a serious young man. She was gripped fleetingly in fear, but then remembered she had no cause for alarm; she has no solo, she told herself, and her part sounds solid. Now she need only worry about how to play it afterwards.....

"Places please!"

Harry had heard Vivaldi's 'Gloria' performed many times, and several times by world class choral groups. But that night it was only background noise as he watched his heart's desire lift her voice in song. She was radiant, dressed in black like every other chorister in those neat rows, but somehow so much more. She was transformed in much the same way as she was when she cracked some difficult problem at work, except this time it was for almost an hour. Even more thrillingly, she had searched for him in the audience. Her eyes were blinded by the lights, but she looked anyway, during the movements she did not perform. She seemed to smile at every inch of the audience, seeking his gaze. As though she knew it was fixed on her from the moment she walked on stage. There was no-one else. Just Harry and Ruth.

Harry waited patiently behind a group of chattering women. Ruth seemed merry enough, caught in the enthusiasm of the other choristers. Eventually the crowd in the room thinned, and she wandered over to the refreshments table, her back to him. He approached her, determined that this time he would not frighten her.

Ruth smiled, sensing his closeness. She spoke, her humour evident in her voice.

"It's just the assorted biscuits now. I'm afraid we've missed the good stuff. I could make some tea, though."

"I didn't want to startle you," he rejoined. "You seem to jump any time I come near."

She turned around. "Well, at least there are chocolate assorted biscuits." She extended the flimsy paper plate, bent with the weight of the few biscuits she had carelessly placed on it.

Harry smiled broadly and closed the gap between them. "I think we can do better than that," he whispered. "I kept two jaffa cakes."

Ruth laughed lightly. It was something she had not done in weeks. "I wouldn't have picked you for a pack rat, Harry. Is it something about men who boarded at school? That they need to fill their pockets with the best to make sure it's there when they want it?" She looked up at him winsomely, and he concentrated hard on drawing breath.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps it was to entice you into having a hot chocolate with me. There's a place a few blocks from here, and you can tell me how many times you nearly laughed when your conductor wobbled on her stand."

She laughed again. "Yes, she really does get into the moment doesn't she?" She paused, looking over at the few remaining choristers. She was meant to meet a few of them for a drink at the local. Should she really abandon her plan for normality so soon? This was part of the experience. She was meant to share this with people, to speak and to listen.

But then she caught Harry's eye and she stopped him before he could renege on the invitation. He was the person she wanted to share with. There could be no better moment. Life was short, and they had already wasted too many years.

"I'd like that very much!" she said playfully, dumping the biscuits and taking the still profferred jaffa cake. "But only if we share this."

She broke it in two on the napkin it came in, and handed half to a bemused Harry. A ceremonial communion, the gesture of breaking cake and eating it together a signal that she was ready to accept what he had to offer her, and that she wanted to share what she had with him. The impulse seized her, and she capitulated gladly. Sweeping aside the years of regret and pain, Ruth stood on her toes, and placed her chilled left hand on his cheek. He shivered as she smiled, and kissed him softly on his lips. Once, twice and then pulled away slightly, keeping her fingers entwined around the lapel of his coat. She stayed close, keeping her lips close to his. Breathing him in.

He spoke first. "I have the car." Harry sounded slightly out of breath.

She smiled again. "Good news, that. It's cold."

* * *

**I know it's not a perfect ending, but it is a beginning, and that's what I wanted to finish with. Hope it made at least a few HR kids happy!  
:hugs: to all of you for reading**

**Also apologies to HRFan – I had this written before you finished publishing your first multichapter fic, and so hope you will forgive me for also sending Harry to watch Ruth at a concert. It wasn't a deliberate overlap.**


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